


The Last Thing I Remember

by Malezita



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Janeway/Chakotay - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malezita/pseuds/Malezita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crazy night of liquor ....and it's consecuenses</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Thing I Remember

**Author's Note:**

> this short story was written for secret drabble 2011 on VAMB

Three worn-out people sat at a corner table in the mess hall that morning. Looking at each other with pained eyes, B’Elanna, Tom and Harry waited for the detox hypospray to work its magic, to take away the sick feeling yesterday’s foray had caused.

At each noise, they flinched, feeling as if little, invisible demons were drilling in their skulls. If they had thought waking up was painful, this was plain torture. Most of the noises came from Neelix’s galley – his humming, the clatter of his pots – and then there were the sounds coming from other crewmembers – talking, scratching of forks and knives on plates. All these sounds were augmented a hundred times to their sensitive ears, and the hypospray just wasn’t working fast enough for them.

With a very low and croaky voice, B’Elanna was the first to talk. “Paris, the minute I feel like myself again, I’m going to break your bones,” she hissed, holding her head with her hands. “What the hell did you put in that punch last night? I have this dreadful hangover, I can’t remember how I got to my quarters last night, and I’m sure I didn’t even drink that much!”

Slowly as if to avoid his brain colliding with his skull, Harry lifted his head to look first at B’Elanna, something dawning on him, and then at Tom with what could be considered the Kim version of a death glare before he cried out in a surge of rage, “You did WHAT, Paris?!”

At that, all three of them instantly flinched and buried their heads in their hands again, rubbing their temples with their fingers in an attempt to sooth the pain, even the gentle hum of the warp core seemed loud as a klaxon to them at the moment.

Tom looked at his friends. Shrugging, he said, “It was just a little bit of alcohol I confiscated from a crewman from deck fifteen. I didn’t think it’d be that strong.” There was an apologetic tone to his voice as he finished.

“Do you have any idea what they use to make that stuff, Paris?!” Harry hissed quietly, having learned his lesson, not daring raise his voice or his head.

Tom shrugged again yet being unable to shake the feeling of his stomach content wanting to say hi, he took a few deep breaths to calm down his bowel and suppress the nausea. “Well, never again. At least not with that. I swear,” he stated, drawing a cross over his heart in the air with one hand while the other supported his head, the pain in his bloodshot eyes raw for everyone to see.

Harry and B’Elanna just rolled their eyes, but instantly regretted it because the mess hall started to spin, and it took a few minutes for it to stop again.

The chirp of Harry’s combadge sounded like the bells of Notre Dame to them, making them flinch all over again. 

“Seven of Nine to Kim,” the former Borg drone’s voice was heard like a high-pitch scream. Flinching really seemed to become a habit of theirs today.

Almost whispering and already regretting having moved, Harry touched his combadge. “Kim here. What can I do for you, Seven?”

“Mister Kim, I would appreciate if you came to cargo bay two today to retrieve your clarinet.” Harry frowned as Seven went on. “You left it here last night after you stopped by, saying – and I quote – ‘Seven, you need a serenade to improve your efficiency.’ End quote. However, my research in the computer’s database does not concur with that statement. Besides, I found your performance to be far from...” 

She went on, but the three officers weren’t listening anymore. They looked at each other with disbelief. What had happened last night? While unspoken, the question was clearly written all over their pale faces.

“... said when I questioned him about the relation between serenades and the efficiency of work. He also said that he would be interested in hearing about this particular theory of yours in greater detail.”

When the former Borg finally stopped talking, three sets of wide eyes stared at each other, cold sweat running down their backs. Silence ruled the moment, thick and suffocating.

“Mister Kim?” Seven’s voice ripped through it, impatience for a reaction unmistakable. Hastily, Harry assured her he would pick up his instrument after his shift and ended the communication.

Rubbing the ridges of her forehead, B’Elanna carefully said, “I’m beginning to think we had a very wild night last night. The last thing I remember is being at Sandrine’s drinking and talking with you. Then flyboy here came with those glasses of punch and after that nothing but waking up on my bed, on the covers with my uniform on.”

A knowing look on his face, Tom seconded what B’Elanna had said, only that he had woken up completely naked. Harry, too, agree, adding that he had no recollection of playing a serenade for Seven and simply woke up in his bed with the biggest hangover of all hangovers this morning.

They sighed, then silence befell the round again until Tom checked the chronometer, finding it was time to start their shifts. Still feeling as sick as they had upon waking up, the three of them headed to their work stations, dreading the day that lay ahead of them.

=/\=

B’Elanna arrived in engineering, barked a few orders, grimacing as she did so, and went to hide in her office, praying to spend a quiet day there. She hoped for her demonstration of foul mood to keep away everyone who valued their life. At least, that was her plan. One that obviously wouldn’t work out if the chirp of her combadge was anything to go by. Adding to her misery, it was Captain Janeway asking for a full report on the last maintenance of the warp core, a scheduled maintenance of the gel packs on decks three to eight, a list of tests of the main computer system that needed to be run as well as an inventory of the parts they had in storage, and she wanted it all before the end of the shift.

For a moment, B’Elanna considered the possibility of her being dead and in hell, then she shook her head, sighed and activated her computer terminal. In that moment, her gaze fell on two large, red-and-white pompons lying on corner of her desk. Not knowing why they were there and how they got there, she frowned, only to have the very silly image of herself in a very girly cheerleader costume with those pompons bouncing around a stoic Vulcan in his mediation robe flood her mind.

Damn you, Paris! It was all his fault.

Ouch! She had risen too quickly from her chair, and her brain still ached like it was being squashed. Slowly, she sat down again, breathing deeply, mumbling, “I’m going to kill him. As soon as the headache passed, I’m going to kill him.”

=/\=

On the bridge, it wasn’t a bed of roses either for the two party boys. The bridge crew had picked today to be more chatty and noisy than ever. Even the captain and the commander were very cheerful, much to the dismay of Tom who sat at the helm and wished he were dead. He felt nauseous, his head was pounding and the rest of his body ached all over. Every time the captain asked him a question, he had to carefully lift his head and slowly turn around to face his commanding officers, attempting to smile while doing so.

“Sorry, Captain. What did you say?”

“I asked if you were alright, Mister Paris. You’re awfully quiet this morning. Is everything okay?” Janeway said almost too sweetly. And was she batting her eyelashes?

All eyes were fixed on him. Clearing his throat, Tom tried to hide his discomfort. “Everything’s fine, Captain. I just woke up with a kinda upset stomach, that’s all.”

“Did you go to see the doctor?” she asked, her voice reflecting concern whereas her eyes showed an unmistakable glint of mischief that nobody else but the commander had caught. His expression, however, was somewhat of a mystery to Tom. He appeared to be amused by the captain’s actions.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tom whispered, hoping this would end her line of questioning.

Suddenly, a thought surged threw his mind and had him frown. When he woke up this morning, naked on the covers of his bed, he had been unable to find his uniform. He had been forced to replicate a new one. Where the hell were his clothes from last night?

A shiver ran down his spine. 

A gasp coming from the OPS station made him turn his head to the left where his captain was standing, holding a neatly-folded red-and-black uniform. Handing him the uniform, she said, “Next time you decide to run around the ship in your birthday suit, Mister Paris, be so kind and leave your clothes in one place. We found parts of your uniform on five different decks.”

Whereas Tom’s jaw dropped, a muffled chuckle could be heard from the first officer, a giggle from the science station, a deep, pained intake of breath at the OPS and an eye brow rose at the tactic station.

=/\=

Calmly, Janeway returned to her chair and sat down. Pushing buttons on the console between the two command chairs, she leaned toward Chakotay who mirrored her pose.

Whispering, the commander asked, “Don’t you think that instructing the doctor to give them a placebo instead of a detox hypospray was a bit harsh, Captain?”

She looked at him with a crooked smile playing around her lips. “They’ll never forget this hangover, Chakotay. And maybe next time, they’ll think twice before they drink whatever they drank last night. Besides, they’re tough Starfleet officers.” She winked at him before turning her attention to Tuvok.

After receiving a nod from the captain, the Vulcan announced a battle drill, causing Tom and Harry to drop their heads onto their consoles.

In engineering, colourful Klingon curses echoed from the walls, most of them threats on Tom Paris’s life.

= Fin =


End file.
